


Day By Day

by Sroloc_Elbisivni



Series: Time Travel Sucks [2]
Category: DCU, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bialya, Coffee, Family, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Jason drinks frappucinos and it is a deep dark secret, Meaningful Discussions, Mistaken Identity, Non-Linear Narrative, One-Shot Collection, Songfic, Speed Force Healing, Starbucks, Time Travel Sucks, backstory at last, brainwashing aftermath, iced mochas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:31:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sroloc_Elbisivni/pseuds/Sroloc_Elbisivni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various One-shots in the A Thousand Days Later 'verse.<br/>Chapter 2-Aftermath. The heroes pull themselves together directly after the battle at Arkham Asylum. Epilogue to ATDL.<br/>Chapter 3-Coffee Run. Jason wants coffee. Damian wants the newspaper. No one is happy.<br/>Chapter 4-Overlapping Threads. Cass was five the first time she fought her father. Stephanie was five the first time she ran away from home. Damian was five when he met his new bodyguard.<br/>Gotham's newest trio through their years on Earth-16.<br/>Chapter 5-A Night at Home. Pure Spitfire domestic fluff with a cameo from the twins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Timeline

These stories take place in an alternate universe where Wally got sent into the future after the Season 2 finale only to find that the Team had gone all Justice Lords in his absence. Since these are written and posted out of chronological order, this chapter is a timeline to help keep the various chapters straight. It will be updated as more are added.

 

**Overlapping Threads (Chapter 3)**

**Final Chapter of A Thousand Days Later**

**Aftermath (Chapter 1)**

**Coffee Run (Chapter 2)**

**A Quiet Night In (Chapter 5)**


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heroes pull themselves together enough to go on after the battle at Arkham. Direct epilogue to A Thousand Days Later.

**Aftermath**

**A Cove Just Off Gotham Harbor**

**March 19** **th**

**22:05 EDT**

Barry stands on the edge of the slowly forming circle as the heroes who can still remain upright on wobbly legs converge in a semi-clear area. Bruce is leaning heavily on Clark—from what Barry can remember, they kept him a wheelchair the whole time, counting him as one of the more dangerous threats. No wonder he's having trouble. Diana stands on his other side, counting heads with one hand pressed to a cut on her arm, slowly rubbing up and down where her bracers would normally be.

Dinah and Oliver are supporting each other as they move in next to him. Ollie gives him a smile, eyes somewhat vacant from a concussion. Barry offers him one in return, looking around for the other mentors.

He can see Jefferson Pierce from where he's standing, but none of the others. _That's…not good._

"Hey!"

Most of the group flinches at the noise before looking over where Plastic Man is waving at them. "You guys are gonna want to see this."

Barry starts to run and belatedly remembers his lack of shoes and the shredded nerves on his feet.

The painful reminder is accompanied by an only slightly-less-painful faceplant.

He has a distinct reminder of Iris laughing the first time he cursed in front of her, joking that she didn't think kids from Central City should know how to cuss out drivers who cut them off in traffic.

_Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it._

A hand reaches into his line of vision, covered in red, and he takes it without thinking, letting himself be helped up.

"Thanks," he says, dusting off his hospital gown.

"No problem, Uncle B."

Barry gets as far as opening his mouth to chuckle before his brain finishes processing.

He looks up, slowly, and can't quite keep his heart from sinking at a face that is definitely not Wally's. The other man's white teeth stand out against a dark jaw that looks rather fuzzy around the edges.

"No offense, but I'm pretty sure I don't know you. And you don't have to keep up the vibration. No one here's going to rat you out."

"W-what?" The man in the suit takes a step back and frowns, and his voice sounds so much like Wally's that something inside Barry is cracking. "One, I'm not vibrating. Two, what the _hell,_ Uncle B?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't think you're my nephew." Barry isn't crying. He isn't.

The guy blows air from between his lips and smacks a hand to his forehead in a gesture so familiar it almost breaks Barry. "Oh, for the love of… _Will!"_

Barry has about one minute to wonder _who's Will?_ before a figure breaks off from the newly gathered crowd further down the beach.

"Why are you still here?" Red Arrow's tone is harsh as he approaches.

"Not entirely sure, but since Luthor just sent a missile your way, if I were you, I'd blame him, and then, y'know, _thank_ me for saving your lives." He huffs and crosses his arms. "Also, I do still look like me, right?" He pulls off the cowl.

'Will' gives him an unimpressed glance. "Ginger, freckled, and irritating. It's him, Barry. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go talk my wife out of murdering you."

He nods once, gruffly, and stalks off. Barry notes that he does not, in fact, head too far down the beach to where a green kimono is barely visible against the sand, but stops next to Dinah and Ollie, looking lost.

"Do you believe me _now?_ "

The man in the Flash costume is even fuzzier around the edges, and his hair occasionally flickers red, but it can't be Wally, Barry won't let himself down again—

"Ugh, fine. I blew myself up when I was eleven and you and Iris teamed up with Mom and Dad to try and make sure I was grounded for a year, Rob—" he stumbles a little, but picks himself up and keeps going. "—used to come over about once and month and after a while you let us patrol together and one time we got bored and hacked your phone and that's how we found out Hal has a tattoo of a potato somewhere unmentionable and you have one of a flower in the same place after you two got drunk on an off-planet mission."

"You _knew_ about that?" Barry yelps before he can stop himself.

"Um, yeah, kinda. And Rob thinks it was supposed to be an iris but I think you were just really hammered and picked the alien design you thought was prettiest 'cause I remember Cisco from the station telling me that before you got super-speed you were a really goofy drunk, so who's right?"

"I thought it was an iris, I didn't think I was drunk—wait, wait, why am I telling you this?"

"Because it's _me,_ Uncle B."

Barry is going to argue more, but his stomach lets out a loud growl. His metabolism isn't quite as extreme as Wally's, but he's been running and hasn't eaten in a while.

The other man is so blurry and wavering now, form flickering, that it's almost impossible to see him snap his fingers, pop open a pouch on his wrist, and pull out an energy bar to pass over.

Barry takes it and eats it with a nod of thanks, almost unthinkingly, then _jolts_ when the caffeine hits his tongue, and again when it hits his bloodstream.

He stares at Wally—and yes, it is Wally, he's not flickering anymore, and that's him, that is absolutely him—

"Yeah, yeah, I know you told me not to duplicate it, but desperate times call for desperate measures, right?"

Barry can't stop staring long enough to answer, and Wally takes it as a look of censure.

" _Fine._ I'm sorry, and I won't do it again, is that—"

The third Flash doesn't get any further before Barry pulls him into a tight, bone-cracking hug.

_"_ _Gack—_ B—can't breathe—"

But he's hugging back, arms linking around Barry's hospital gown, and he's still a bit shorter than his uncle, but so real and solid and _there_ that it's like he never left.

"You're grounded," Barry says in a voice he doesn't even bother to keep the shake out of. "You are _grounded,_ from patrol, and from hanging out with your friends, and from—from _moving_ , indefinitely."

"Love you too, Uncle B."

* * *

Barry doesn't let go until he hears two strange voices talking off to the side.

"Is _that_ him?"

"I _think_ he has blonde hair. It could be."

Wally pulls out of the hug and frowns at two kids in purple-and-white suits and tinted goggles. Barry stares at their long red hair, trying to figure out what they remind him of.

"Where's your mom?" Wally asks, looking up and down the beach.

The two of them look at each other, at the two older men, and then preform a simultaneous double take that verges on the comical. "Mom!"

Barry stares in shock as they run off at top speed, and the implications of 'Mom' start to sink in.

"What?"

Wally slings an arm over his shoulder and quietly advises him to brace himself as they follow the two redheads toward a quieter area of the beach.

Barry Allen is, has been, and will be a great many things, but he will never be ashamed to admit that he wept like a small child when he saw his wife smiling at him.

* * *

Wally slips off quietly, wanting to give Iris a chance to explain everything to Barry. She managed with her nephew, she should be able to manage with her husband.

Jade, upon seeing him again, had sworn at him in three different languages. He _thinks_ she threatened to castrate him in Vietnamese and then called him a motherless, white-eyed flower prince in Mandarin, but what does he know?

Either way, she had demanded he let her look at Artemis to make sure she hadn't sustained anymore damage, and then told him to quit hovering over her shoulder, worthless turtle, go bother someone else.

So he had gone to find Barry.

She should be calm now, though…right?

He still stays a cautious distance away from where Cheshire is checking over Artemis's back, hoping she won't notice.

"I know you're there."

Rats.

"You might want to come look at this."

Wally approaches slowly and kneels down next to her as she removes the last of the bandages.

Artemis's skin is still coated in blood, but most of it has dried, and he can't see any more leaking out. He brushes the flakes of it away and stares, dumbfounded, at the small scar that's the only sign there was ever a wound in the first place.

"Whoa."

He slowly reaches out and traces it with his fingertips, and flinches away as she stirs.

"Mmmph…'ally?"

"Right here, babe."

"'s cold. M'cold." Artemis lets her head tip over her shoulder to gaze blearily at them.

"Artemis?" Jade asks, leaning forward. "How do you feel?"

"Cold. Y'were gone, Jade. Y'kept van—vanshing." Her words are slurred.

"Artemis, c'mon, stay awake. I think you have a concussion." Wally moves to her head, lifts her up, and lets her lean on him. "Scale of one to ten, babe. How much does it hurt?"

Her head flops on her shoulder and she blinks up at him. "Three. Arm n'shoulders. Outta shape. M'head too. C'cusshun."

"Yeah. Probably. Don't move too much."

She gives him a lazy smile. "Din' think being dead was s'posed to hurt."

"What? No. No, babe, you're not dead. You're gonna be fine."

Artemis blinks, slowly. "But y'r here."

Wally doesn't know how to respond to this, so it's a good thing Jade cuts in.

"Artemis. What do you feel right here?" She places one finger gently on the scar.

"Nothin. Doesn' hurt."

"And here?" Her finger shifts down to Artemis's thigh.

"Where?" A bleary blink at her sister. "Feel what where?"

Jade locks eyes with Wally as Artemis's own begin to slip closed.

"Nothing, babe. Get some rest." He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Jade is already slipping her cat mask back onto her face, head turned away from Wally.

"Jade," he says softly. "She could be okay. We don't—"

"You've met our mother, Wally," Ja— _Cheshire,_ snaps, whirling back around to face him. "You saw where that scar is. What do you _think_ happened?"

Wally doesn't flinch from the cat eyes. "We don't know what happened yet. We can at least get an x-ray first, check to see what happened."

Cheshire snorts. "And where are we supposed to get one of those? Almost all our medical equipment was in the lab complex."

"We'll figure _something_ out."

Will approaches cautiously and clears his throat to get their attention.

"What?" Wally and Cheshire snap at the same time.

He raises one eyebrow. "You might want to come see this."

* * *

"What's wrong with them?" Wally asks, shifting Artemis in his arms and studying the vacant eyed League members.

"M'gann must have been aware that her power was failing. I believe she was stretched thin by the activity and by being forced to engage in battle herself. In lieu of continued control, it seems she decided to eliminate the need for it." J'onn has already morphed his costume back on, leaving him the only dignified one among the heroes dressed in hospital gowns. "The version of Starrotech they infected us with must have acted as a…vaccine, of sorts. It left her unable to gain a foothold. Hal, Orin, Billy, Ray, Augustus, and Katar were not so fortunate."

"So now they're vegetables?" Jaime asks. He also mutters something about elimination being a terrible plan to his back, but everyone collectively ignores it.

"Or as good as. Can you fix them, J'onn?" Bruce shouldn't be able to pull off looking stoic while draped against Clark like a swooning Betty Grable, but he somehow manages.

"It will take…some time. Reconstructing an individual's memory is not a simple task."

"There isn't a Resistance base large enough to hold all of us for as long as that would take." Iris's eyes are only slightly unfocused as she provides input. "And if you think any of you are going to get away with blending in as civilians…"

"My Fortress. I can change the codes, lock Conner and anyone else out. There are protocols for it, and enough space and supplies for everyone." Clark looks just a bit wounded when he suggests this.

"We've got another priority," Cheshire points out. "Most of you have family in the Hall of Justice right now. We don't get them out—we could wind up with a hostage situation within a week."

"They have medical facilities there, too. We could snag some supplies, check everyone over—" Wally gives Jade a significant look. "Take some x-rays."

"They should be sufficiently distracted enough that we could get in and out." Will looks less grumpy, which is about as optimistic as he gets.

"Not everyone should go. More variables aren't good."

"Speedsters, definitely—can the twins be trusted?"

"I don't know, but is there anyone who can hack the system?"

"Barry, you shouldn't go—"

Wally walks away as the conversation devolves into strategy discussion. He's going and so is Artemis. End of discussion. It doesn't really matter at this point what else anyone has to say.

He comes across Bart standing on a peninsula, watching the ash and smoke rise into the sky with an unreadable look on his face.

Not wanting to disturb his cousin, Wally slowly starts to back away.

"No, it's okay. You can stay."

So Wally stands with Bart, the woman he loves cradled in his arms, and they watch the sky burn.

"It's almost like home," Bart says, softly. "I mean—back then.

"You never talk—talked—about it," Wally says, awkwardly.

"Not much to say. Moded place. Reach took over the world. Sky looked like this all the time." He gestures at the ash cloud. "Not a lot of food. Not a lot of heroes. Soldiers all over the place. Lots of work." He's silent for a long moment as Wally tries to figure out what to say.

"Still, there were a couple good things. The Flash—he taught me everything I know. Sorta. He taught my dad, and they both helped teach me."

"I remember you telling Barry about that. That tornado thing you did—that was his move, right?"

"No."

"I'm officially confused."

"It was the Flash's move." Bart doesn't take his eyes off the sky. "Ever wonder how I knew exactly what date to come back to? I heard the story over and over and over."

"I'm probably gonna regret asking, but the story of what?"

"The story of how my grandpa died. I never got to know Barry in my time. Neither did my dad or aunt." Bart kicks the ground. "I did know the Flash. I knew you. Probably wouldn't be here today without you." His tone is matter-of-fact. "So, thanks. I don't think I ever said that, back then."

"Oh. Um. You're welcome?" Wally is torn between a morbid curiosity about the way he died and the knowledge that that would be a Very Bad Idea. So he settles for talking without thinking.

"Is it weird seeing your dad like this?"

"He is _not_ my dad!" Bart snaps out in a way that conveys a great many Issues Wally is not going to touch with a ten-foot pole.

"Whoa! Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean anything by it." Wally would raise his hands in defense, but, well, Artemis.

Bart seems to retreat into himself, continuing to watch the sky. "S'okay. You didn't know." He sighs and pulls off the cowl of his uniform. "I just…I know I'm always the happy and upbeat one, but this feels so _final,_ y'know? Like something, right now, today, is changing. Don't know if it'll be better. Don't know if it'll be worse. It's just gonna be different."

"Yeah," Wally agrees. "I think that's called the future."

Bart looks at him for the first time in their conversation, and stares with utter disbelief for at least three seconds before starting to laugh.

* * *

Jaime is the appointed messenger, and comes by about five minutes later, when both speedsters are still staring at the sky.

"Hey, I'm supposed to tell you that there's a plan, and that you guys are both part of stage one, so you should get over to the Hall _rapidamente_. The rest of us will get there a bit later. Also, Flash, Cheshire says to tell you that she plans on castrating you if her sister doesn't wake up. And possibly if she does. I'm pretty thankful I'm not you at the moment."

"So'm I." Bart pulls on the cowl again, darts in to kiss Jaime on the cheek, and moves away down the beach, grinning like a loon. "You coming, Wally?"

Wally takes three steps to build up speed and pulls up beside him. "Race you to the future?"

Bart's eyes gleam as he snaps on goggles. "You're on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada~! It is written, hooray. Either the coffee run or the first chapter of The Days that Follow will be going up next. Either way, expect more pseudo-Batfamily.
> 
> Thanks to Mango-Sama for beta-ing and for giving me ideas that helped me FINALLY get this out. This chapter was very hard to write.
> 
> The tattoo thing is not meant to reference anything in particular. Unfortunately, I only remembered *after* I wrote this that speed-healing also means tattoos vanish almost immediately. Assume it was just a photo, then.
> 
> The Cisco mentioned is meant to be a name-drop from the Flash TV show. I couldn't resist.
> 
> I wound up Googling Mandarin curses at 11 PM and giggling. Basically, Jade calls him an idiot who sleeps around (white-eyed flower prince.) The rest is kind of self-explanatory.
> 
> Poor Artemis. I think I'm almost done torturing her.
> 
> Hopefully, an explanation for where the hell all the Leaguers are going to go. For the most part, their role in this story and this universe is pretty much over. It's not about them anymore.
> 
> It was also difficult to write the Wally-Bart interaction, but I felt like it was something that needed to be done. I'm satisfied with how it turned out. The way I see it, Bart still carries some trauma, but...that was his life, it was all he knew, he wouldn't spend a lot of time angsting over it. Seeing his dad's counterpart would trigger *something*, as far as I'm concerned.
> 
> Also, personal theory that time traveling made Bart a little more sensitive to shifts in the timeline, hence his comment on how it feels like everything's changing.
> 
> I realize it's been a while, but reviews/comments would be greatly appreciated.


	3. Coffee Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason is hiding out at one of his safehouses with Donna and Cassie after the Arkham incident. Right after getting the other two holed up, he goes to get coffee.  
> Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, and Damian al Ghul are laying low in an apartment in Gotham for reasons currently unknown to us. (well, to you.) Woken up at a positively unholy time by the missile blowing up Arkham, a decision is made to go for coffee.  
> Whatever could such unrelated events lead to?

**Gotham City**

**March 19 th**

**22:24 EDT**

Jason Todd, like most members of the Bat Family, has long fostered an unhealthy dependence on caffeine. If you asked any member of the former Team how he takes it, their answer would probably be “Oh, he drinks coffee as black as his soul sweetened with the tears of small children.”

He has worked dang hard to cultivate that impression, thank you very much.

“Welcome to Starbucks, can I take your order?”

“Yeah, can I get a venti caramel latte, a grande iced mocha, and a venti cinnamon dolce frappucino, to go?”

Cassie likes caramel, Donna has a thing for iced mochas, and neither of them particularly cares for frappucinos.

One, they have no idea what they’re missing. Two, _they must never know._

He pays for the drinks and moves to a table in the corner, watching idly out the window as Gotham slowly, sluggishly stirs from a two-year long sleep. A citywide crackdown at the start hadn’t been easy—they hadn’t really expected it to be, not here—but it had been done. Still—there are some things that defy suppression.

Like how most citizens haven’t had the chance for the good old-fashioned widespread panic they were so fond of in a couple of years. An explosion in the harbor where it’s a widely known “secret” the Lords have a base should be pretty good at doing that.

He sees Batwoman making her way down the street and immediately grabs a newspaper to shield his face, or more importantly, his hair. The white streak tends to make him noticeable. Maybe he’ll dye it.

A small hand smacks down on the table next to his arm, and he lowers the newspaper with raised eyebrows. A ten-year-old boy with a distinctly Arabic nose is scowling at him. Something about his face looks vaguely familiar.

“Can I help you?”

“Return that to me _at once_.”

“Easy, do you want the funny pages or something?”

The kid’s glower increases to Bruce-worthy levels. “Tt. Don’t malign my intelligence. It is far superior to yours.”

“Okay, someone is up past their bedtime.”

The kid tenses up and Jason will swear that he hears a growl. “Why, you—”

Before he can do anything other than growl, a smooth shadow moves into place and Jason finds himself blinking up at an attractive young woman with Asian features and dark hair cut in a bob.

“Sorry for…brother. Anger…issues.”

Her English is stilted enough that he’s willing to lay money on it being at least her second language, and there is a vague resemblance between the two.

“I do _not_ have anger issues! He stole my newspaper!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Jason holds up the offending paper after a discreet glance outside proves that Batwoman has moved on. “I just found it on the table.”

The girls turns a gaze on her companion that makes him actually duck his head and look away.

Okay, those two are _definitely_ siblings.

“Yours?”

“I…no. But I was going to read it!”

Now, Jason _could_ do the nice thing here, and give the kid the paper. Does he really need it? No. Could he get another one? Probably.

Is he going to do that? Absolutely not.

Hey, he just spent three hours freezing his butt off before fighting a battle, getting knocked out by one of his supposed friends, and seeing his girlfriend get attacked.

And all this before coffee.

Plus, he hasn’t read the book reviews yet.

So while the kid is receiving the patented Older-Sister-Look-Of- _Disappointment_ , Jason Todd, Professional Asshole, stands up, tucks the paper under his arm, and walks away.

“ _Hey!”_

“You snooze, you lose, kid,” he calls over his shoulder. He catches a glimpse in the window of the girl clamping a hand onto the kid’s hood to keep him from coming after Jason.

And since there’s a look in his eyes Jason has only ever seen in the mirror after nightmares…he might be grateful.

“Order for Todd?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” He goes up to grab it, nimbly avoiding a blonde girl rushing past him to where the two siblings are having a whispered argument and the other girl has yet to remove her hand from the boy’s hood.

He picks up the coffees in a neat little tray thing balanced on top of the newspaper in one hand and strolls casually toward the door.

He stops to glance over his shoulder at where the two girls are talking and the kid is biting into a cake pop like it’s personally offended him.

If Jason continued looking back, he might have seen a certain pair of almost-familiar blue eyes glaring at him.

But he didn’t.

So instead, he wanders down the street with the coffees until he has a good spot to lean against a wall, read the reviews, and keep an eye on the sky.

He’s not really paying particular attention to the street level, so he while he sees two girls looking vaguely familiar walk past, he doesn’t notice the shadow scurrying in their wake until the tray of coffee in his hands is shoved up from the bottom and splashes all over his coat.

“Son of a _bitch!_ ” he swears, futilely trying to mop at the excess liquid with the newspaper before giving chase. “Hey, you asshole, that was my coffee!”

The shorter figure has already hurried to catch up with the two in front of him. The three turn in unison before spinning back around and running away as fast as they can.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit—”

He finally corners them in an alley, half out of breath and madder than a bat out of hell, and is somehow not as surprised as he should be that it’s the kid from the coffee shop, already being furiously scolded by his sister’s—friend? Girlfriend? His sister’s something.

“What the actual _fuck,_ I don’t even know you, you pint-sized _asshole._ ”

The sister is glaring at both him and the brother, and once again reaches out to snag the hood of the kid’s jacket as her something steps forward, palms out.

“Hey, Todd—can I call you Todd? Look, I’m so _very_ sorry about the kid, he has anger issues, doesn’t really get how to behave around normal people yet—”

“How _dare_ you Brown, I will rip your _mmmph rrf mmphur_.”

The sister shrugs from where she’s got the other hand firmly anchored over the kid’s mouth and ‘Brown’ sighs.

“—so how about, y’know, I just pay for your coffee and maybe some dry cleaning and we can all go home and forget that this crazy night ever happened, huh?”

Her grin is slightly strained at the edges and looks a bit too practiced, but it’s disarming all the same.

Before he can open his mouth to respond, there’s a rumble of engine and wheels from the edge of the alley, and they all freeze.

Only the feds drive after ten at night, and this scene is pretty clearly confrontational.

Jason freezes. He can’t afford to be brought in, and from the way the other three do the same, they can’t either.

They all stand there, tensed up, until the sounds have passed.

Jason sighs, and drags one hand over his face. “Keep the damn money. Just…get outta here, get home, stay outta trouble. And kid, pro tip: most people aren’t as nice as me. Don’t be an asshole.”

He turns around and stomps off in the direction of the safe-house, cursing some more and hoping his vest is still dry. Wet Kevlar chafes like fuck-all.

(It isn’t. Stupid kid.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I had to Google for this chapter: Starbucks menu, time changes, whether or not green tea lattes were a thing (ok that may have been for me), does wet Kevlar chafe (no conclusive answer; mine’s funnier), word for when cloth rubs against skin scrape tip of my tongue CHAFE  
> I swear I am so, so sorry for the wait, and extra sorry that this one little update is so short. My muse went AWOL and my life—and, you don’t care right. Long story short, I finally managed to crank this out, I’m working on the next chapter for the main story, which should hopefully be sometime within the next month. (I WILL TRY. I PROMISE.)


	4. Overlapping Threads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cass was five the first time she fought her father. Stephanie was five the first time she ran away from home. Damian was five when he met his new bodyguard.  
> Gotham's newest trio through their years on Earth-16.

Cassandra was five the first time she fought her father.

She had begun to outstrip her tutors, and almost every time, Cain was there in the background, watching impassively.

Eventually, he came and stood in front of her, unmoving. She stared at him, hard, waiting and watching until he twitched—just a little—and she could see an opening along his side.

It turned out to be a feint that left her nursing a sprained wrist for the next few days.

She gained a valuable lesson as well—her father knew exactly which way she would move.

Cassandra resolved to not be caught the same way twice.

 

* * *

 

Stephanie was five the first time she ran away from home.

Arthur Brown had been out on parole for eight weeks, and she wanted him to just go away already. It was better without him around—Mom was happier and didn’t get that horrible vacant look all the time, Steph could run around and make more noise, there wasn’t any awful yelling.

He hated Batman, so Batman had to be the best option for getting rid of him. Steph had tried making a bat-signal with her flashlight, but it hadn’t worked. -

Well, since Batman hadn’t taken him away already, she was going to find the hero and make him do it. Or he could just take her away instead, and then go back for her mom.

She got six whole blocks away before she got tired and started thinking about going back home.

It took another two blocks and a rumbling stomach before she seriously considered it.

Tripping over a trash can and dropping her flashlight was the final straw, but by then she was lost. She sat down, pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, and tried very hard not to cry.

“Hey!”

Steph flinched and scrambled backwards. A black-haired kid in a mask with a cape hanging down behind him dangled off the fire escape, and she reacted as any sane person would.

She groped behind her, found an empty beer bottle and threw it right at his face.

Her aim was good, and he wasn’t expecting it. He yelped and fell, tumbling into a somersault as he hit the ground, and coming up, cheesy grin on his face, bare legs planted wide and arms akimbo.

A snort bubbled out of Steph’s nose before she could stop it, and the older boy looked crestfallen.

“Whaaat?” he demanded, syllable drawn out and whining.

The snort was followed by a giggle, and then a laugh, which turned into more and more and then suddenly she was crying and she couldn’t stop it—

And then she was getting hugged.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, you don’t need to cry, I’m not scary, I promise.”

Steph shoved him away from her. “’M not crying. You’re stupid.”

He scooted back and pouted. “Am _not._ ”

“Yeah you are. You aren’t wearing pants. That’s stupid. Everyone can see your panties.”

The boy sputtered. “I—it’s a _leotard,_ not _panties!”_

Steph could feel herself grinning. “Panties.”

“Stop _saying that!_ ”

“Panties!”

“Leotard!”

“ _Panties!_ ”

“Leo-tard!”

Steph gave him a supremely unimpressed look. “Panties.”

He huffed. “Fine. They’re panties. What are you doing out here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be at home?”

“No.” She crossed her arms and glared at the wall.

“Oh, c’mon. You can trust me. I work with Batman!”

Stephanie scoffed. “Yeah, right. What would Batman want with some kid in panties?”

“They’re _not—_ oh, forget it. But I swear, I’m with him. Haven’t you heard of Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder?”

“No.”

He shrugged, unconcerned. “It’ll catch on.”

A gruff voice cut in from above them. “Robin.”

“See, he’s using it,”

Steph twisted around and stared up—and up—and up—

“You’re big.”

“And you’re running away.”

It wasn’t a question, and Steph got angry. “I was _not!_ I was looking for _you._ ”

Batman knelt down so she could look right at the white eyes of his mask. “Oh?”

“’S my dad. You gotta take him away again.”

“What did he do?”

Steph scowls and stares away. “He makes mom sad. Yells a lot. At me. At mom. His friends come over, ‘n they yell too. Mom makes me go to my room, ‘cause one ‘f’m stares at me. They make the house smell bad. He leaves lotsa papers all over the table ‘n yells at me if I touch ‘em. You gotta take him back to jail. I don’t want him around anymore, and Mom doesn’t neither.”

“Your mom will be missing you.”

Steph got angry and stamped one foot. “So you need to go get him so I can go home!”

Batman’s face didn’t change the whole time he carefully explained to her that he couldn’t just go grab her dad and take him away without any evidence that he was actually doing something wrong. It didn’t change when Steph broke down crying, either, but when she woke up back in bed and caught a glimpse of his face from her window before he drove off, she thought he looked…sad.

Stephanie gained her own valuable lessons that day. One, just because people were sad for her didn’t mean they would help. Two, just her word wasn’t good enough to get things done.

And three…if she wanted to get rid of her dad, she would have to find the proof to get it done herself.

 

* * *

 

Damian was five when he met his new bodyguard.

“I don’t like her,” he announced with a scowl. “Send her back.”

Mother sighed, resting one hand lightly on his head. “Damian, my love, your stubbornness is a fine quality, but it will not help you here. Cassandra will be more than adequate protection for you.”

The subject of discussion stood a few feet away, studying Damian with an unreadable expression.

He scowled at her, and received only an enigmatic smile in response.

“I do not _like_ her,” he repeated, emphasizing it.

Mother tapped him on the head, firmly. “You did not like the last five, either, _almharba alsghyr._ ”

Damian glanced at Cassandra again, more speculatively, but Mother caught it and tugged a couple strands of his hair in reproof. “That was not permission to attempt to drive her off. In fact, I shall be most displeased if you do. As will your grandfather. I expect you to treat her with the same respect you would show your trainers, understood?”

A few more token grumbles came out before the inevitable acquiescence, and Mother kissed his head once and murmured to Cassandra before departing.

The two stood there and studied each other for a while before Damian grew bored and decided on his first strategy.

He walked into his room, shut the door, and left through the secret passage she could not possibly know about, heading for the gardens.

Once out in a clear area and satisfied that no one was around to see him, Damian made a beeline for a tree near the wall. The cape and cowl he had hidden there were undisturbed.

He spent the next ten minutes happily stalking around, growling in a menacing voice and threatening imaginary criminals.

When he heard near-silent footsteps in the leaves, Damian ducked behind a tree. Surely Mother could not fault him for wishing to test Cassandra’s vigilance, as he would with any incompetent trainer.

A gunshot rang out, and he froze. There was the sound of fighting, fists meeting flesh, bones cracking, and a body hitting the ground.

Stupid, incompetent, Cassandra, how dare she not be—

“Damian?” An unfamiliar, stilted voice floated out. “Is…Cass. Go…in. Not safe.”

Damian felt his knees weaken, but forced himself to remain upright. He was _not_ going to go in. He was the grandson of Ra’s al Ghul, heir to the demon, and he _would_ lay eyes on the corpse of one who dared to attack him.

When Damian strode out from behind the tree, he found Cassandra in the center of an open space on top of the intruder, one of its arms lying broken on the ground, the other twisted up between its shoulderblades. Her knee was pressed firmly to the small of its back.

“Why bother restraining someone already dead?” Damian demanded harshly.

Cassandra had been looking at his makeshift cowl with a funny crinkle around her eyes, but her expression quickly dropped away. “I don’t kill.”

Damian stared at Cassandra, then down at the body—no, the _living intruder—_ before looking back up at her.

He didn’t have the chance to ask any more questions—or demand she kill it anyway—before more guards flooded into the courtyard and Mother swept him up into a hug.

Later, after the intruder had been taken away, Mother had sighed over his costume, and Cassandra had given a halting report—she had known he was in the gardens, been watching him the whole time (which grated), and had seen the intruder enter over the wall—and the traitorous guard who had been purposefully less than diligent in his checks had been dealt with, he finally took the chance to get some answers out of Mother.

“Why is she here?” he demanded. “Cassandra will not kill. She may be effective, but if she will not kill, she cannot be _that_ useful.”

Mother sighed and stroked his hair gently as she burrowed into her shirt and inhaled the familiar jasmine scent. “Did you see her fight?”

“…No.”

“If you had, _almharba alsghyr,_ I doubt you would be asking me that.” She tweaked his ear gently. “Cassandra is a unique, incredibly skilled fighter. She can read the body language of her opponent in physical combat and predict their moves skillfully enough to react and bring them down before they can even complete their motions. She does not kill because she has no need to and does not want to. She is here to protect you.”

Damian sat on Mother’s lap and thought very hard until she eventually kissed his forehead and sent him back to his room.

Cassandra was going over the room, checking each corner and niche.

“Why?” he demanded.

She turned around and looked at him, head tilted to one side.

“Why don’t you kill?”

She shrugged. “Don’t…need to. Waste.” Her dark eyes swept over the cowl now pulled back around his neck. “Batman…doesn’t.”

Damian tugged at the cape, annoyed that she had mentioned it. “Then why are you _here_?”

Her lips twitched minutely. “Talia…asked.”

It would take Damian a while to understand exactly what he was supposed to be learning that day, but the seeds had been sown.

 

* * *

 

 

Cassandra was eight when her world fell apart.

It began with a pale pink dress—the first and only one she had ever worn. Father had given it to her, brought her out of the compound for the first time ever, brought her to a tall, tall building and inside, to a man who had spoken to her like he didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to, and Father had moved his palm to tell her _attack._

It ended with her fist hitting the man’s windpipe and watching all motion in his body…stop.

No. No, this couldn’t be happening, what was happening, what had she _done?_

His body twitched, even when his eyes and head were still, and that _wasn’t right,_ people’s heads _didn’t stop moving,_ not like that. And his arms and legs weren’t even saying anything, weren’t trying to move further, they just lashed around helplessly and then—

Then he was still.

No one should be that still.

And she…she had done that.

Father was proud, Father was _happy—_ and he was kneeling and stretching out his arms to hug her.

A day ago, she would have given anything for this.

Now…Cassandra ran.

 

* * *

 

Stephanie was fifteen the first time her world fell apart.

It began with Dean dumping her at a bus station, continued with being kidnapped by aliens (what fucking even was her _life_ ) shortly after, and ended three days later with her bent over a toilet, trying to make her mind function around anything but the tiny pink plus on the stick in her hand.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

Crystal Brown had the late shift at the hospital, so she wouldn’t be back for another few hours. Dr. Leslie ran the biggest free clinic in Crime Alley and it was after dark—meaning she’d be busy with more immediate matters.

Somehow, she found herself walking out of the bathroom and up the flight of stairs at the end of the hall, heading for a familiar apartment.

She knocked twice and breathed deeply, trying to steady herself as chair wheels rumbled on the other side of the door.

“Stephanie! How nice to see you! I thought you were not going—” Paula’s face turned concerned. “You are as pale as a ghost, what happened?”

“Hi, Mrs. Crock.” Steph swallowed. “Can I—can I come in?”

Ten minutes and a cup of green tea later, Stephanie was staring down into delicate porcelain and trying very hard to stay composed. She didn’t see the ballet of emotions dance across Paula’s face—grief, wistfulness, longing, sorrow—before it hardened.

“And?” Her tone was sharp. Steph looked up in surprise.

“Wh-what do you mean _and?_ I’m _pregnant!_ ”

“And what? You are pregnant, are you going to abort the child or carry it to term? Even if you do, will you keep it? If the father is out of the picture, then the choice is yours. You are in control of the situation. What are you going do about it?”

This was not something Steph had been prepared for, and it must have showed on her face, because Paula leaned forward to take her hand. “Stephanie. I am not trying to attack you. I have been in your shoes before. I know what it is like. Because of that situation, I ended up in a very unhappy marriage, estranged from my elder daughter, and my younger…” her voice cracked and her hand tightened. “…well. I would not undo their births for anything, but—” she dipped her head. “I would not have my mistakes made again.”

Her eyes were sharp as she looked directly at Stephanie. “Now that your father is no longer a threat, _do_ you intend to continue the career your mother is not to know about?”

“Yes.” She didn’t even have to think about that. The Spoiler did good work—important work, needed work, even if the Cluemaster was off the streets.

Paula’s face was thoughtful. “Take it from someone who was on the other side of your career—which, I might say, is far less work—trying to raise a child will impede your efforts greatly.”

Stephanie looked down at her tea again.

“You have many months to decide, Stephanie. I do not advise you to think too quickly.” Paula squeezed her hand once, then let go.

* * *

 

**7 months later**

Dr. Leslie closed the door of the birthing room behind her. Crystal Brown looked up from her seat at the sound, a worried expression on her face. “Is she…”

“Stephanie’s fine. The birth went well with no complications. She’s resting now.”

Crystal took a deep breath. “And the baby?”

Leslie’s blink lasted a moment too long, “She asked not to see the child. One of the nurses is cleaning them up now, and the adoption agency already has parents waiting.” There was a pause before the doctor offered, “You can go in and see your daughter, now.”

The younger woman scooped up her purse and tucked it under her arm. On her way to the door, she stopped and turned around.

“Thank you. Not just for…all this, but for before. For looking after her when she was going after her father, and when she kept doing it.”

Leslie didn’t even twitch. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t.” Crystal’s smile was small. “I know you know I don’t approve, and that I never really show it, but I’m grateful.” She slipped through the door and closed it behind her.

 

* * *

 

Damian was eight when his entire world literally came crashing down around him.

The compound was under attack—and not merely another one of subterfuge and assassins that were an ordinary, accepted part of life, but a full-on assault involving heavy weaponry and bombardment.

Cass was somewhere ahead of him, scouting out the escape tunnel to make sure it was still stable enough for them to get out. Mother had her hand on his shoulder, keeping a firm grip as they hurried along. In her other hand hung one of the emergency bags that he was not allowed to tamper with under any circumstances.

The only things he’d been allowed to grab before leaving were the two katana slung over his back. They bounced in their sheaths with every running step he took.

When they came to a corner, Mother squeezed his shoulder as a warning to halt. Cass reappeared in less than two heartbeats, her face shadowed by the dark assassin’s garb she rarely wore inside their compound.

“All clear. We go now.”

Talia exhaled slowly above him, voice too controlled to allow for shaking. “Give us a moment. Check to make sure the exit is undiscovered.”

Cass nodded and vanished back into the tunnel on silent footsteps.

Talia knelt before Damian, hands on his shoulders and gaze steady.

“Damian,” she said, softly. “ _Almharba alsghyr._ ” _My little warrior._ “I trust you will acquit yourself as an al Ghul should while you are away. Be strong. Defend yourself and those in your care against all outsiders. Trust in Cassandra to protect you. Stay safe.”

“I will.” Stupid tunnel. Clearly no one had bothered cleaning it in some time. The dust was making his throat sore. “Farewell, Mother.”

Something too soft and sad to be called a smile flitted across her face. “So brave. So strong. You will be a fine man, Damian.” She let go of his shoulders and unwound the silk scarf from her neck, wrapping his hands around it. “Carry this with you. I trust you will take care of it and be able to return it to me one day.”

“I will.”

She let go, hair falling across her face with a waft of familiar jasmine scent. Cass returned just as he tucked the scarf into his pack. “I am staying here, Cassandra. Watch over Damian. Leave the country. Stay hidden. Trust no one but each other.”

“Understood.” Cassandra took the other pack, slinging it over her shoulders. “Thank you, Talia. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Cassandra.”

Something passed between the two women before Cassandra slipped into the tunnel for the final time. Damian took a deep breath and followed her.

He did not look back.

 

* * *

 

Cassandra was fourteen when Talia found her.

Few people could actually guess her age correctly; Jiao, the lady who ran one of the cleaner brothels and sometimes gave her a place to sleep when she chased off men who didn’t understand how the business worked, said that she had a soldier’s eyes.

Cass wasn’t sure what that meant, but thought it might explain why she could make people flinch and give her what she wanted when she glared at them

It had been in the middle of one of her daily walks around the red light district. She couldn’t protect everyone, but she could keep an eye on the girls who lived on the street with no one to look after them.

At first, she hadn’t bothered looking out for anyone but herself, since that on its own was hard enough to do without seeing that man gone horribly, horribly still all over again in her mind.

After she came here, to Hong Kong, she had intended to keep doing just that. That plan changed when she found one of the girls who had helped her learn to talk and moved like she was part of the shadows, lying just as horribly still in an alleyway.

She hadn’t done it, this time, but that didn’t stop her from throwing up the little food she had managed to get that day.

Watching out for the girls on one street while she was still in town had led to watching out for two streets, to four, to a couple of the brothels, until she was firmly settled in an area she could navigate without sight or sound four years later.

It had become her habit to scan the street as she walked, watching for people who walked like they were looking for a fight. Sometimes she saw people who walked too smoothly, too carefully, with a quiet confidence that threatened all comers. Those, she avoided—they wouldn’t make trouble unless someone else made it for them. She didn’t want to draw their attention.

There were more of them than usual on the street. Cass picked out a route that allowed her to avoid them as much as possible until she reached one of the alleys and ducked into it. Perhaps she would sleep today in order to be more effective tonight.

Or, perhaps, it was finally time to leave Hong Kong. It would be hard for her to pull up and leave after all her time spent here, but if more people who moved like her ( _like Father, like Cain)_ were entering the city, leaving seemed like the best option.

Cass had gotten maybe five steps into the alley before she heard movement behind her and spun around.

A well-groomed woman in a jade green business suit stood there, brown hair pinned up in a smooth bun behind her head. She looked like any one of a hundred businesswomen on the streets of Hong Kong, though not common to this district. Her posture was relaxed, but her hand rested on her purse as though she was prepared to reach for a weapon.

“Cassandra Cain?”

Cass knew her father’s last name, but she hadn’t heard it applied to her since the last time he sent people to retrieve her. She shifted her weight, almost imperceptibly, moving into the perfect position to be able to run or fight.

“My name is Talia. I would like to buy you lunch and make you an offer. I swear to you that is all. I will not pressure you into it, and you may feel free to leave at any time.”

Cass studied her body language for any hint of a lie while she considered.

She could refuse the offer, and perhaps she should. Something told her this lady would move much like the others she had seen on the street today. It also felt uncomfortably like a setup.

But she was hungry, and this lady knew her name, and it would take her time to leave the city, and…she was curious.

There was no lie, so she shrugged, and said, “Fine. But I…pick…place.”

Talia, to her credit, didn’t seem disconcerted when Cass led the way to a hawker selling fish balls on a corner, and did indeed pay for both of their meals. They sat on a park bench to eat them, one located near an absolute warren of tenements and shacks. If this meeting went badly, she could easily escape.

Cass began eating her lunch as soon as she could. Hot, fresh food was a rarity, and she didn’t want it to become a casualty if she had to cut and run.

Talia tasted one and set it down again, studying Cassandra from behind a pair of dark glasses. “You know, you’ve garnered no small amount of gossip since you left your father. Your skills are…impressive.”

Cass shrugged. There was nothing to say to that, really—she could definitely improve, but to most others, her skills were impressive. No reason to deny it.

“I have recently found myself in a position where such skills, belonging to an operative with no prior loyalties whatsoever, would be invaluable.”

Cass’s guard immediately rose, but she kept her body language loose—no point in tipping her off and losing the advantage of surprise if she had to run.

Talia reached into her purse, moving slowly and carefully, and her hand emerged with an envelope held between two fingers. She opened it and withdrew a photograph, which she handed to Cass.

A small boy, with features that similar to Talia’s and bright blue eyes, wrinkled his nose up at her in a scowl. He was young, perhaps four or five, dressed in black with gold lining around his collar. Something about him made Cass…curious.

“My son, Damian. I have many enemies, which makes thoroughly vetting any bodyguard for hidden ties that might lead to betrayal a long and exhausting process. Especially when I must repeat it every few months. He is a rather precocious child, and does not tolerate well those he considers fools.”

Cass handed the picture back. “So?”

“I would like you to be the one to protect him.”

 _That_ was…not so much surprising, considering Talia’s lead-up, but…definitely not quite what Cass had been expecting.

“I don’t kill.”

Talia shrugged. “With your skill, I expect you would hardly have the need to. And I said, you are well known for having no loyalties to anyone other than yourself. Your time here in Hong Kong has gained you quite a reputation as a protector. And my son has received the finest training there is, but his interactions have been…limited in scope. You are sufficiently skilled enough to earn his respect, but not so old he will be unable to identify with you…or you with him.”

Truth was still evident in every line of her demeanor, but Cass didn’t trust people who moved like Cain, even now. “What if…no?”

Talia sighed and leaned back. “Then I would be disappointed, and ask you to reconsider, but I would understand your right to that decision.”

“What if…yes?”

“Then you would be assigned to guard Damian and ensure no harm comes to him at any time, especially when we are not in any territory I am the highest authority in. You yourself would have standing in my court and my father’s, and a place in my compound, which would guarantee you near-immunity from your father. You would always have food to eat, and a relatively safe place to sleep, which I know you are not always assured of here. And you would have the chance to further your training on your own time if you so wish.”

Cass did so wish. Very much so.

“If at any time you found these arrangements disagreeable, you would be free to leave. Though as I said, it is my hope that you would be willing to stay.”

They were both quiet for a minute. Cass carefully examined her last fish ball before popping it in her mouth and holding out her hand. “Photo?”

Talia raised one slim eyebrow and retrieved it from her bag.

This time, Cass studied it carefully, looking for something else.

The boy scowled, yes, but there was something else in the pinch of his mouth that spoke of loneliness. He was not at all uncomfortable in the clothing he wore, even though it looked like the collar must itch like crazy. His eyes were sharp and fierce, but not entirely hard.

Still, Cass could not trust just anyone who came to her with pretty promises and tempting offers. Talia may say now that she was free to go, but if she refused, who knew?

Cass handed the photo back over and sat on the back board of the bench, balanced and ready to run. “No.”

“No?” Talia raised both brows now. “I would be correct in surmising that you choose to not accept my offer?”

“…yes.” Cass wasn’t sure what _surmising_ meant.

Talia simply sighed. “I can’t precisely say I am happy with your refusal, but it is your decision after all.” She reached into her purse and Cassandra tensed, but the only thing that emerged was a small slip of paper. “Should you reconsider in the next week, simply show this to someone you trust and ask for directions. It is the address of the hotel where I am staying. Farewell, Cassandra.” She stood and walked away, leaving her fish balls behind.

Cass took the card. And the fish balls.

Two days later, she showed the card to Jiao. The older woman was shocked.

“That’s the fancy place downtown. Where’d you get a card for that, _xiao tuzi?_ ”                 

“Given. For job.”

Jiao pursed her lips. “A job? _Tuzi,_ I hope you know what you’re getting into. Sure, I can point you the way. Just be careful, _ni mingbai?_ ”

Cass was always careful.

She wasn’t exactly sure how that connected to her standing in front of a fancy hotel intending to take Talia’s offer, but it did.

Perhaps it was because, unlike everyone else, Talia had asked and been willing to let her say no.

* * *

 

Steph was sixteen when the Lords found her.

She ran across the roof of a warehouse in the dock district, cursing herself every step of the way. This was a stupid, stupid, stupid idea, to come out when and show herself when these ‘heroes’ had been coming down on Gotham _hard._

But she figured that if the official vigilantes were losing their minds and _killing_ people, if the rumors were to be believed, then _someone_ had to be out on the streets actually protecting people. It looked like Spoiler would have to be the one to do that.

She never thought she’d end up having to protect someone from Nightwing and Robin, but look where she was now.

Being chased across rooftops by people who probably _hadn’t_ given birth in the past few weeks and had been doing this _way_ longer than she had because she helped the kid they were beating up for graffitiing a wall. Which seemed to piss them off, for some reason.

It hadn’t been this bad the last time she was out on the streets, but that had been months ago, before the Justice League vanished in September and all these previously-unknown heroes descended on the world like avenging angels. The kind that were more interested in smiting than answering prayers.

Whatever else you could say about Gotham, it definitely hadn’t gone quietly. According to Harper, this girl Steph knew from school who had been one of the only ones to not treat her like a pariah for being pregnant, the Justice Lords were forced to channel more resources into subduing Gotham than they had for anywhere else.

Spoiler skidded to a halt at the edge of the warehouse and turned to look for the best spot to jump to the next roof. That, _of course,_ was when Robin (oh wait, sorry, _Red Robin_ now) dropped out of nowhere and made her fall back on her (very sore, _ow_ ) ass.

“Come on, Spoiler. I’m sure you think you’re trying to do good, but you’re really just making it harder for the rest of us. You shouldn’t be interfering.”

In the same manner that she had eleven years ago, Steph scrabbled behind her back for anything she could use, came up with a brick, and hurled it at the jackass in red.

He wasn’t as much of an acrobat as the guy in green panties, apparently, since he ended up taking the brick full across the face with a yelp. While he was dealing with that, Spoiler scrambled back onto her feet and ran.

She made it all the way to Crime Alley before they caught up with her again. This time, it was not only Red Robin (now with a lovely bruise blossoming on his cheek that complimented his color very nicely) but Batgirl as well.

Spoiler backed away slowly and carefully, keeping her attention fixed on the other vigilantes. She had fought them earlier to give the unwise graffiti artist a head start, which in retrospect was probably a bad idea. Or maybe that was just the sprained wrist, multiple bruises, and what felt like cracked ribs talking.

_Breathe shallowly._

“Spoiler, isn’t it?” Batgirl asked, voice light as she edged closer to Stephanie. “I thought you went after Cluemaster.”

“Well, y’know when you get right down to it, turns out jerks who try to beat up other people are everywhere.” She kept her voice light and tried not to put too much air behind the words. “Who would’ve guessed?”

“You haven’t been on the streets in a while,” Red Robin said, moving in from the other side.

“I’ve been busy, sue me. Figured it was time I got back out.”

“It’s not your job. You shouldn’t be out here.”

Steph’s laugh was usually light and loose, but something in Spoiler’s was hard and sharp. “It’s my city too. I belong here just as much as you do. Maybe more, since I’m not the one going after people who don’t deserve it. You broke that kid’s _arm_ just for writing on a wall!”

“People need to be taught to respect the small laws just as much as the big ones.” Red Robin had a dark look in his eyes that brought up bad memories, and Steph took another step back. “And sometimes extreme measures are necessary. You brought down Cluemaster, you should know how this works.”

“I brought down Cluemaster myself because no one would _listen_ to me.” The familiar fury bubbled up. “Not you, not Nightwing or Batman or anyone else. Not even the cops in his pocket. I had to trick him out past the city limits and get the state troopers to bring him down. “

“Exactly. The system was too broken to be fixed, but we’re rebuilding it.” Batgirl stayed further away, but she was still getting closer bit by bit. “You could help us. Think about it—no more Cluemasters or gang wars or fights in dark alleys.”

It sounded good. Just like Dean’s promises had sounded good, like Arthur Brown could sound good when he wanted.

Steph didn’t want to be there when it stopped sounding good.

“Sure. Help you break down everything and build it halfway back up? Sounds great. Toss out any pieces that don’t fit? Awesome. Lock anything that doesn’t do what you want in a closet?” Bile was rising at the back of her throat and she was too angry to see straight. “Why the hell not? I mean, I totally lost my chance to do that when I got Cluemaster tossed in Blackgate instead of joining him. Better not miss out this time, right?” Spoiler stood straighter after that and waited for the explosion. Just like mouthing off to Arthur had once left her, her heart was pounding and her breaths came quick and sharp and her vision was tunneled, but she felt free in the same way her costume under the night sky used to make her feel.

Batgirl’s face was blank in that careful way that Steph was _sure_ meant she was thinking, but Red Robin—

 _Uh-oh._ She knew that look too, and it made the bottom of her stomach drop out and her breath hitch and her mind scream _nonononono!_

He took another step forward, and suddenly he was huge and sneering and closing the door and—

Spoiler stepped back again, too quickly, and nothing was there.

She fell, and knew no more.

 

* * *

 

**Interlude**

 

Batgirl guards Leslie’s clinic in Crime Alley that night, though she can’t say what (who) she’s guarding it from.

T—Red Robin and D—Nightwing are there as well, standing with her. And she closes her eyes and breathes and carefully doesn’t think about the girl on the operating table, about how fragile she had seemed all the way to the clinic, cradled against her chest and making barely audible whimpers of pain.

A few years ago, that could have been her—not enough training, not enough equipment, not ready to—

 _To face off against the people who were supposed to protect her?_ A treacherous voice whispers.

“You don’t need to be here,” she says to Nightwing to distract from that. “Red Robin and I—”

“I have the warrant for her arrest,” he states. “Unauthorized vigilantism, remember?”

Barbara wants to hit him, for some reason. Batgirl stays calm.

“And that can’t wait until we know if she’s stable?”

“Might as well do it now.”

The door opens and they all stand a little straighter as Dr. Leslie exits, her expression dark.

“She flatlined on the table,” Leslie announces coldly. “Time of death one-twenty-three AM. I have the death certificate if you need a copy for your _files._ ”

Batgirl’s breath catches in her throat, and she can see the other two stiffen.

“Can we…” Tim begins, and that’s all Tim right there, the scared, sad little voice.

“I think you’ve done enough already.” Fury as icy as the Arctic rolls off of Leslie in waves.

Tim starts forward, but Nightwing places a hand on his shoulder and holds him in place.

One looks up, one looks down, and the first looks straight ahead at Leslie.

“I’m sorry.”

They leave. Barbara stays.

“What do you want?” The good doctor’s voice is tired with something more than age.

“What was her name?” Barbara asks, quietly.

Leslie’s face crumples.

“Steph.” She closes her eyes, breathes in, breathes out. “Stephanie Brown. She gave birth, only a few weeks ago. Her daughter went up for adoption. She didn’t want to, but she thought she had to. Steph used to help me around the clinic. She was planning to be a pediatrician.” Another deep breath. “Cluemaster was her father. She became Spoiler to stop him because it was _right_ , and she did it with no resources, no connections, and next to no help.” Leslie looks Barbara right in the eye. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Barbara, because I sure as hell don’t.” She walks back into the clinic and shuts the door firmly behind her.

“Batwoman,” she says later, and Nightwing and Red Robin draw their own conclusions as she puts her old uniform away and makes a new one.

(The old one goes into box, next to purple Spandex and cheap Kevlar, and she sees in her mind’s eye a different person in it, strong and proud and silhouetted against the night, with a grappling hook to save her when she falls, but she never admits out loud what (who) she’s saving it for.)

The new uniform is a walking computer. She weaves herself into the systems as they are built, finds her way in to the ones before her time.

She builds a network, builds it strong, and builds it well. She sees most and learns enough to pretend she sees the rest. People fall for it, and someone (she doesn’t know who) coins the name _Oracle._ It floats out there as a whisper, a rumor.

The Lords never find out.

 

* * *

 

Leslie leaves for a Doctors Without Borders mission to Qurac the week after Stephanie Brown flatlines on the table of a clinic in Gotham. The visa request for a comatose patient to go with her is signed off by two lower clerks in both governments. Not a single member of the Justice Lords notices. Eventually, the extra records are made to vanish.

(The records may or may not vanish right after Barbara Gordon feels hope sprout in her chest for the first time since that night in November when she was made to decide that yes, she would know what she was doing.)

 

* * *

 

**Epilogue**

 

Damian was ten when he and Cassandra found themselves in Bialya. He rather liked it, if he was honest—Arabic was Mother’s preferred language inside the compound, which meant everywhere sounded a bit like home. It had been long enough that it stung less to remember now.

Or, more specifically, he rather liked it _unless_ they were being hassled by a group of jack-booted incompetent thugs demanding to see their papers.

“ _I told you, we have no papers. We were chased from our homes two months ago and are attempting to contact relatives in Al Mahwit. All we want to do is use the radio tower.”_

 _“And I told_ you, _boy, that if you do not have papers authorizing you, you are not permitted to use the transmitter._ ”

It escalated from there, until Cassandra had his hand on his arm and was pulling in that way that meant she had read the situation and they had to go, _now._

He ignored her, this time, because they needed to use the radio tower if they wanted to make their way to the next stop in anything close to a reasonable time.

“ _Fine, if you want to get in the radio tower so badly, you can spend the night in the cells next to it!”_ one of the soldiers barked.

“No. Every…thing…is fine. We’ll…go now.” Cassandra used her full strength to pull Damian back .

“I think not,” the soldier snapped, switching to English. “You—”

“ _There_ you are!”

A blonde girl in a Doctors Without Borders t-shirt suddenly popped up between them and the soldiers. She winked at Damian and then turned around to grin cheerfully at the armed men.

“Terribly sorry about that, officers. I just came to grab these two and take them back to the outpost we set up back there—” she pointed towards the tents further down the road with a steady trickle of people going in and out. “They were _supposed_ to stick around so we could tell them the results of their hookworm tests.”

The expressions of the soldiers went straight from irritated to nauseated.

“And I’m afraid the bad news is, you two both have massive infestations.” She gave them a sympathetic look, but before Damian could protest the injustice of her slanderous accusation, Cassandra had clamped a hand over his mouth. “We’re gonna need to quarantine you for a bit so they don’t spread to anyone else. You guys understand, don’t you?” At the last sentence, she turned back to the soldiers.

“GO, go, get them out of here.” The leader waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal.

“Thanks! Sorry to interrupt your conversation.” The girl turned around and dragged Cassandra who dragged Damian who dragged his feet until they got out of earshot of the soldiers.

As soon as they were sufficiently away, Cass took her hand off of Damian’s mouth and he unleashed his righteous anger full force.

“How _dare_ you make such disgusting accusations! I will tear you to pieces, harlot.”

“Oh, save it.” She waved her hand casually. “I got you away from the soldiers _and_ gave you a handy excuse to keep out of their sight till they forget about you. Maybe a “thank-you” is in order here.”

Damian still felt maiming would do this insolent harpy a world of good, but her solution had been…adequate.

“Thank you,” Cassandra said. “I am Cass. This…is Damian.”

“Hello, Cass. Hello, Damian. I’m Stephanie, Stephanie Brown. Call me Steph.” _Tt. Not likely._ “Now, I know I was lying about the tests, but as long as you’re here, you might as well get a checkup. Doc Leslie’s just getting off her break.” Brown pushed open the back flap of the tent and stepped inside, calling out for this “Leslie.”

A much older woman with gray hair, also wearing one of the t-shirts, came out of the main area holding a clipboard. “Yes, Steph, I—”

She looked up halfway through and the clipboard clattered to the ground as she stared at Damian.

“Bruce?” The woman, presumably Leslie, spoke in a whisper, eyes bright.

“Who?” Brown asked. “No, this is Damian.”

“Yes—yes—I’m sorry.” Leslie groped behind her for a chair and sat down hard. “I’m sorry, it’s just—you remind me very much of someone I knew.”

“Again, _who?_ ” Brown inquired. “Because the only Bruce I can think of off the top of my head is Wayne, and that—”

“You know Bruce Wayne?” Damian cut across the harpy, staring at the older woman. “You know my—” he cut himself off, cursing his loose tongue. He should not be so desperate for information on a man he had never met.

The doctor’s face smoothed as she stared at Damian, this time with wonder.

“Of course. Tell me, Damian, who’s your mother?”

He glared at her suspiciously, but a glance at Cassandra could confirm that the woman held no ill-intent, and she _knew his father._

“Talia. I don’t know what name she met Father under.”

“Talia…of course. Talia Head. She and Bruce were in the tabloids oh, eleven years ago? Steph, I don’t think you’d remember. You were only eight.”

“Nope. Not a clue.”

“They broke up, as I’m sure you know. I was never clear on the specifics. Bruce didn’t like to talk about it. Certainly not to me. But that would make you at least ten.” She studied his face. “You have his eyes, you know.”

“I did. Mother told me.”

“How…I don’t mean to be rude, but how did you end up _here_?”

“Lords…attacked compound. Two years…now.”

Leslie’s gaze transferred to Cassandra. “I’m sorry for neglecting my manners. You are?”

“Cass. Hello.” She waved.

“Lovely to meet you.” The doctor blinked. “Two years? Is anyone else with you?”

“We are both more than capable of taking care of ourselves,” Damian interjected.

“Of course.” Leslie let out a long sigh. “Steph?”

Brown, who had been perched on a table and watching the conversation with wide eyes, perked up. “Yes?”

The doctor waved a hand. “Get them some food and supplies, and just…find something to do. I’ll come talk to you after my shift.”

“You got it, boss.” Brown made a truly hideous salute and began immediately chattering to Cass, who smiled bemusedly and fell into step with her. Damian trailed them out of the tent, trying to decide whether he should actually care what she had to say.

Inside the tent, Leslie took a deep breath, and mentally reviewed which contacts could probably get her access to fake passports.

 

* * *

 

Steph managed to get in a tour of the entire camp, arrangements for sleeping areas, and a check for hookworms done on both of them (the little one hissed like a cat, it was freaking _adorable_ )in the couple of hours or so before dark. Then she had mercy and let them collapse around the campfire with her in the rapidly cooling desert night while they swapped heavily edited life stories.

“So, you’ve just been traveling the world for two years?”

“Yes,” Cass said, eating her MRE. She didn’t even seem to mind the taste, which was frankly a miracle to Steph. “It is…interesting.”

“Huh.” Steph tapped her spoon against her teeth. “Any reason?”

“We’ve been trying to find my father,” Damian said, picking at his own. “Not that it’s any of your business, harlot.”

“Wow, rude. And I…cannot actually help you there, cause according to legend, Wayne’s been shut up in his house for two years, but no one actually knows if it’s true or what. Even Doc Leslie doesn’t know right where he is.” Steph poked at the mashed potatoes and decided they probably weren’t poisonous before taking another bite.

“Tt. Of course not. The Lords would hardly allow the location of Batman to be common knowledge. It could undermine their authority.”

Steph choked on powdered bits of potato. “ _What?_ ”

 

* * *

 

Cass watched Steph ( _brightbright-sunshinewithskin-shock-surprise-anger?)_ poke and prod at Damian for more answers.

“Our plan has always been to go to Gotham. It is the logical place to begin searching, after all. It has just…taken us a while.”

Steph’s movements, always a constant buzz at the edge of Cass’s senses, went still. She was quiet for a long moment, and when she spoke, it was from a core as strong as steel and eyes as hard as diamond.

“Gotham isn’t like anywhere else on earth. It’s tough and it’s sharp and it’s cruel, but it has a beauty and power all its own. If you go there, you’re going to need help—someone who’s been there on nights when rain poured down and squad cars tore through the streets and things lurked in dark alleys. Someone who’s been there on nights when any sane person would run the other way and kept on going anyway.”

“And who would you suggest?” Damian asked, a sneer in his voice.

Steph laughed, a sound as hard and sharp as the movements of her body. “Who else? I know Gotham and Gotham knows me. Besides, it’s about time I went home. You’re not getting rid of me now.” Her posture relaxed and her mouth twitched up, but diamond strength still flashed in her eyes.

Cass felt something in her stomach move, and sniffed the meal to make sure nothing in it had gone bad.

“Besides, Batman deserves a slap to the face for letting his kids turn evil and conquer the world, and I figure as someone who technically _died_ because of it, it might as well be me.”

Damian, on the other side of the fire, immediately launched the defensive of the father he claimed he didn’t care about. (Cass was not impressed with Bruce Wayne for not even trying to find his son, and thought that Steph had the right idea, but Damian might as well have at least the chance to think the best of his father.)

 

* * *

 

Later, in the days to come, the scene would repeat itself in many iterations and different arguments. Cass would only tolerate their bickering for so long, but she couldn’t help admitting to herself that it was nice, to be more than a pair.

“You know,” Steph said a month later on the docks of Gotham after what had to be one of the more interesting journeys their trip had entailed (involving twenty-three chickens, five crates of confetti, a run in with mutated dolphins, and sharing extremely close quarters for sixteen hours). “This thing might just work after all.”

And Cass agreed.

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xiao tuzi= little rabbit
> 
> ni mingbai= you understand me?
> 
>  
> 
> Almharba alsghyr= little warrior
> 
>  
> 
> Since both Arabic and Mandarin use a different alphabet, I used a phonetic translator to get words in the Latin alphabet. I don’t know how accurate they are.
> 
> Thank you to sass-mistress-lucifer and secretlystephaniebrown for betaing!
> 
> In order, the dates of each section are 2005, 2006, 2014, 2008, 2016, 2017, 2014, 2016, 2016, 2019, 2019, 2019. I may have fudged the timeline. Just a bit.
> 
> Next update will be for ATDL, and will feature a return of the first chapter's cast. Fun times. 
> 
> Okay, so Greg listed Steph’s age in her one appearance in “Before the Dawn” as 12, which would make her 15 at the end of this story, which…no. No, no, no. No. Writer Does Not Approve. So for my purposes, she’s 18 as of early 2019, and five in late 2006…the year Robin made his debut at “the ripe old age of nine.”
> 
> Damian does not appear in Young Justice, but Talia appears in the tie-ins. I’m disregarding everything abt that appearance except that she and Bruce broke up in 2009. Moving on.
> 
> Fish balls are apparently a popular meal in Hong Kong, sold by numerous street venders.
> 
> Originally, when Steph’s complaining about her sore butt (childbirth is a long and painful process) I used the word ‘fanny’. Why? I don’t know. Blame my mother. My beta, who is British, informed me that it was a terrible word choice and did not mean the same thing everywhere. After googling slang, I agreed.
> 
> I picture Leslie as an older version of the one played by Marina Baccarin on Gotham.
> 
> Also, disclaimer: I have liberally culled information from each character’s comic backstory, but accuracy is. Like. 60%, if that
> 
> There are two lines in this chapter that I'm so ridiculously proud of, you have no idea. They were both written yesterday, when my brain decided that screw finals, it's time to write 3500 words. Yay brain.
> 
> I'm really glad this chapter is finally out in the world, and even if you think I screwed up a lot, I'd /love/ to see what you thought!


	5. A Night In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wally releases an exaggerated (quiet—he can’t afford to undo all his hard work now) groan as he drops into the chair next to Artemis.  
> “The kids are—finally—asleep.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair—it’s already a mess from bathtime, it can’t exactly get any worse. “Remind me again why we decided to adopt?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ridiculous piece of fluffy cheesy fluff I wrote way back before ATDL was even finished. Posted it as a preview when I was seriously late with a chapter on FF.net, then took it down again. Putting it back up now that we've finally gotten to the point in the timeline where it's no longer a spoiler.

Wally releases an exaggerated ( _quiet—_ he can’t afford to undo all his hard work now) groan as he drops into the chair next to Artemis.

“The kids are— _finally_ —asleep.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair—it’s already a mess from bathtime, it can’t exactly get any worse. “Remind me again why we decided to adopt?”

Artemis, sitting at her super-fancy-super-comfy desk chair that’s all she’ll allow herself to use in the house, snorts as her fingers tap away at the keys. “Don’t ask me. You made the decision yourself, remember? I was lucky to even get a phonecall before you actually brought them home.”

“Hey, if you have to blame someone, blame Barry,” Wally replies easily, leaning back and letting his eyes drift closed. They’ve rehashed this argument so many times since he first brought Irey and Jai home that he doesn’t even think about what he’s saying. Personally, Wally still blames Barry (and is _never_ going to thank him for dumping one hyperactive speedster and one sneaky one on him after the older Flash found them running around DC—nuh uh, nope, totally not going to say thanks for the crazy bundles of annoyance with the eyes that cannot possibly be eyes and have to be some kind of magic hypnosis tools or something and those smiles that are even brighter than Artemis’s. Nope. Not gonna say it.)

“I do.” Artemis hits ‘enter’ and a smug smirk creeps across her face. “Which is why I just changed all his backgrounds to pictures of cats and spammed his email with Weight Watchers ads.”

Wally blinks once, then shrugs. He always knew his girlfriend was evil. Now she just does it from behind a computer. Honestly, it’s fun to watch her get creative.

One thought does occur.

“What if Iris comes after you?”

Artemis leans back and threads her fingers together, and straightens her arms, palms out, cracking all her knuckles at the same time. “Iris and I have an understanding.”

“You—Wait, wait, wait, how long have you two had an ‘understanding’?”

A mysterious smile is her only response.

Wally wrinkles his nose.

She rolls her eyes.

He sticks out his tongue.

She flicks her fingers at him and turns back to her computer.

Wally sighs and sets his chin at the edge of her desk, blinking his big puppy dog eyes up at her. “Arty…”

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me that or I’d hide all your carbs.”

“No, not my carbs!”

She ignores him in favor of tapping out another line of code, before squinting at it, frowning, and rubbing her eyes.

“Babe, c’mon.” He superspeeds into place behind her, rubbing her shoulders and twisting away from the hand that absently swats at him. “You’ve been sitting here and working _all day._ You need a _break_.”

“Wally, no. I need to finish this.”

“Finish it _tomorrow,_ ” he offers in a pleading tone.

“No, I have to get it done _tonight_ , Wally.”

Wally sighs at the back of the chair, but he knows that there’s no talking the blonde out of a workaholic mood.

_Hmmm…_

He strolls out of Artemis’s office and starts rummaging through the closet, being absolutely careful not to drop, break, or fumble anything. It takes him a minute to find the disk he’s looking for—it has to be the disk he had burned the song on, Artemis can and will shut down a digital version faster than even he can stop it.

_Where, where, where…there!_

He finds the box of CDs Artemis had him retrieve from storage shortly after he came back, and fishes through it for the belated present he had made shortly after the third forgotten Valentine’s Day.

_Got it!_

It’s chock-full of the romantic cheesy pop songs that Artemis will swear up and down in front of all witnesses that she loathes from the bottom of her heart, but that he knows for a fact she played after nightmares as a teen when she couldn’t sleep.

Slowly, carefully, he sneaks back into the office with the mix CD loaded into a portable boom box, plants it in a corner, skips to the last track, and presses ‘Play’.

At the sound of the first piano chords, Artemis’s shoulders tense and lock, pulling back as though in preparation for a fight, then relaxing as the smooth cello line comes in. She spins her chair to glare at him, eyes going faintly misty as the lyrics come on before snapping back into sharply defined gray.

_Heart beats fast_

_Colors and promises_

_How to be brave_

 

Wally steps forward. “Dance with me, babe?” he asks, whisper barely disturbing the sound of Christina Perry’s voice.

Artemis’s face scrunches and crumples, eyes squeezing shut as her head turns away. “Wally…”

He slowly walks over and kneels in front of her chair, reaching out one hand to brush some hair away from her face. “You’re still beautiful to me, Artemis. You’re still that amazing, funny, brilliant girl I fell in love with. You always will be.” Even more quietly, he asks again, “Dance with me?”

 

_Doubt…_

_Suddenly goes away somehow…_

 

Wally pulls her up, letting her cling tightly to his upper body for support. She wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face in his shoulder, blocking out the world. His arms snake around her waist, holding her close and offering support.

_One step closer…_

Slowly, they sway back and forth to the tune of the song. Artemis breathes in and out, trying to relax in his strong arms and to imagine that she stands on her own two feet again.

It doesn’t completely work—and never will again, not since Arkham—but it’s close enough. And it’s enough to just be here, with Wally.

 

_I have died everyday_

_Waiting for you_

 

They always joke that she’s the better half, but she knows that’s not true, not after the past three years. She needs him there to hold her up. To stop her from sliding back down that sharp, slippery slope that’s always lurking at the back of her mind.

 

_Darling don’t be afraid, I have loved you_

_For a thousand years._

_I’ll love you for a thousand more…_

Wally is her guiding light, the compass that always points north. She knows that now, more than ever.

 

_Time stands still_

_Beauty in all she is_

Wally lets Artemis lean on him, holding her close and letting the lyrics wash over him. He can feel dampness sinking into his shoulder, just a bit, and almost wants to cry himself. She’s been so brave through all of this, braver than he would have been in her place. Every time he sees her, part of him always cries out _no no my fault not fast enough never fast enough._

 

_I will be brave_

_I will not let_

_Anything take away_

_What’s standing in front of me_

He knows that she thinks she’s the one who nearly lost him, for good, but he keeps seeing the knife and her body on the ground every time he closes his eyes. They came close, too close, and Wally knows that he came too close to snapping for any kind of comfort.

 

_Every breath,_

_Every hour has come to this._

 

But that’s in the past. Right here, right now, he’s dancing with the woman he loves, and he wants to let her know that there’s nowhere he’d rather be every day for the rest of their lives.

 

_One step closer…_

_I have died everyday_

_Waiting for you_

_Darling don’t be afraid_

_I have loved you_

_For a thousand years_

_I’ll love you for a thousand more…_

_All along I believed_

_I would find you_

_Time has brought your heart to me_

_I have loved you_

_For a thousand years_

_I’ll love you for a thousand more…_

As the instrumental section pours from the speakers and Wally and Artemis sway back and forth, two eight-year-olds peer out from behind the doorframe at the dancing couple.

“What are they doing?” the redhead whispers.

The blonde makes a small hand movement. “Dancing, dummy. Shh!”

The redhead scowls at him. “You’re the dummy,” she mutters, if quietly.

 

_One step closer…_

 

The twins slip into the room and hide under the desk, watching their adopted parents dance. The girl softly sighs, glaring at her brother when he nudges her.

 

_One step closer…_

They settle down together in their little nook, eyes drifting shut as the music plays on.

 

_I have died everyday,_

_Waiting for you_

_Darling don’t be afraid_

_I have loved you_

_For a thousand years_

_I’ll love you for a thousand more._

_All along I believed_

_I would find you_

_Time has brought your heart to me_

_I have loved you_

_For a thousand years_

_I’ll love you for a thousand more…_

The last strains waft away, leaving the two young lovers standing alone (or so they think) in the room, illuminated by the soft blue light from the screens.

The couple stands there for another minute or so until Artemis softly remarks, “I really do need to finish that program.”

Wally presses a gentle kiss to her head. “Whatever you say, babe.” Mission Get Artemis to Relax Before She Turns Into Batman 2.0: Accomplished.

He speedily tucks an arm under her knees, scooping her up bridal style to a small burst of surprised laughter before setting her gently down in her chair again. Something under the monitor catches his eye, and he bends to look under the desk.

“Well, what do we have here?”

The twins are curled in the cranny formed by two of the large computer banks and the legroom of the desk, holding hands as they cuddle together. Wally lets out a soft laugh.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to move them without waking them up,” Artemis murmurs. Looking up, the newest Flash can see that her eyes are already starting to drift closed.

He stands up and gives her another soft kiss on the temple. “I’ll go get some blankets for them.” _And one for you._

He comes back with four blankets, three pillows, Jai’s stuffed owl, and Irey’s stuffed cheetah, to find that Artemis has indeed gone to sleep as well, head resting on one side of her chair. Wally just smiles as he drapes one of the blankets lightly around her shoulders and another over the twins. He turns off the computers, letting the room be engulfed in quiet darkness, and spreads out the other blankets on the floor for a makeshift bed. Why go back to the bedroom when three of the people he loves are right here?

The soft breathing of his odd, makeshift family lulls Wally to sleep in his position on the floor.

 

 


End file.
